Wednesday, May 25, 2011

Dylan Thomas (1914-1953)

A Process in the Weather of the Heart

A process in the weather of the heartTurns damp to dry; the golden shotStorms in the freezing tomb.A weather in the quarter of the veinsTurns night to day; blood in their sunsLights up the living worm.

A process in the eye forwarnsThe bones of blindness; and the wombDrives in a death as life leaks out.

A darkness in the weather of the eyeIs half its light; the fathomed seaBreaks on unangled land.The seed that makes a forest of the loinForks half its fruit; and half drops down,Slow in a sleeping wind.

A weather in the flesh and boneIs damp and dry; the quick and deadMove like two ghosts before the eye.

A process in the weather of the worldTurns ghost to ghost; each mothered childSits in their double shade.A process blows the moon into the sun,Pulls down the shabby curtains of the skin;And the heart gives up its dead.